Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, September 19, 1891

Name: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, September 19, 1891
Author: Various

by Various

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Language: en374 downloads on Project Gutenberg

Subjects

English wit and humor -- Periodicals

In: Contemporary Reviews·Punch·Humour

Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #13961.

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SILENCE AND SLEEP.

(LINES WRITTEN AT COCK-CROW.)

Night-time and silence! O'er the brooding hill The last faint whisper of the zephyr dies; Meadows and trees and lanes are hushed and still, A shroud of mist on the slow river lies; And the tall sentry poplars silent keep Their lonely vigil in a world of sleep.

Yea, all men sleep who toiled throughout the day At sport or work, and had their fill of sound, The jest and laughter that we mate with play, The beat of hoofs, the mill-wheel grinding round, The anvil's note on summer breezes borne, The sickle's sweep in fields of yellow corn.

And I too, as the hours go softly by, Lie and forget, and yield to sleep's behest, Leave for a space the world without a sigh, And pass through silence into dreamless rest; Like a tired swimmer floating tranquilly Full in the tide upon a peaceful sea.

But hark, that sound! Again and yet again! Darkness is cleft, the stricken silence breaks, And sleep's soft veil is rudely rent in twain, And weary nature all too soon, awakes; Though through the gloom has pierced no ray of light, To hail the dawn and bid farewell to night.

Still is it night, the world should yet sleep on, And gather strength to meet the distant morn. But one there is who, though no ray has shone, Waits not, nor sleeps, but laughs all rest to scorn, The demon-bird that crows his hideous jeer, Restless, remorseless, hateful Chanticleer.

One did I say? Nay, hear them as they cry; Six more accept the challenge of the foe: From six stretched necks six more must make reply, Echo, re-echo and prolong the crow. First shrieking singly, then their notes they mix In one combined cacophony of six.

Miscalled of poets "herald of the day," Spirit of evil, vain and wanton bird, Was there then none to beg a moment's stay Ere for thy being Fate decreed the word? Could not ASCLEPIAS, when he ceased to be, Take to the realms of death thy tribe and thee?

What boots it thus to question? for thou ART, And still shalt be; but never canst be still, Destined at midnight thus to play thy part, And when all else is silent to be shrill. Yea, as I lie all sleepless in the dark, I love not those who housed thee in the Ark.

He says "you hit a ball and walk after it, and manoeuvre it into a hole." Eugh! Such icy analysis would make Billiards a bore, and resolve "Knuckle-down" into nonsense! "It is not (Golf is not!) a proceeding (proceeding, quotha!) of which youths and young men should grow enamoured." As though, forsooth, Golf were a sort of elderly Siren luring limp and languorous youths into illegitimate courses; a passée Delilah, whose enervating fascinations sapped the virile vigour that might be dedicated to "that noblest of sports," Cricket, or even that "much better game," Lawn Tennis!!!

Surely the devotees of the Golf-cultus, the lovers of the Links, will be down like a "driver" upon Dr. WILSON. Oh, ANDY, ANDY, between you and your "brither Scots" there is henceforth "a great Golf fixed"!

WIGS ON THE (SEA) GREEN!--Some Frenchman (we are told by The Gentlewoman) has done Ladies a good turn by inventing a Bathing Wig, which keeps the hair dry without making the fair bather look "a fright." Hooray! SABRINA herself might shout for such an invention, which even the Nereids need not despise. DIZZY once sarcastically referred to certain "Bathing W(h)igs," but they were of another sort. Not even the most adventurous Tory could "steal the clothes" of our latter day "Bathing Wigs."

Culchard. Abominably slow train, this Schnell-zug. I hope we shall get to Nuremberg before it's too dark to see the general effect.

Podbury. We're not likely to be in time for _table d'hôte_--not that I'm peckish. (He sighs.) Wonder whereabouts the--the TROTTERS have got to by now, eh?

[_He feels he is getting red, and hums the Garden Scene from "Faust."_]

Culch. (indifferently). Oh, let me see--just arriving at St. Moritz, I expect. Wonderful effect of colour, that is. [_He indicates the West, where a bar of crimson is flaming between a belt of firs._

Podb. (absently). Oh, wonderful!--where? (Hums a snatch of a waltz.) Dum-dum-diddle-um-tum-dum-dum-dum-ty-doodle; dum-dum--I say, you don't seem particularly cut up?

Culch. Cut up? Why should I be cut up, my dear fellow?--about what?

[_Before PODBURY can explain, two Talkative British Tourists tumble up into the compartment, and he has to control his curiosity once more._

First T.T. Well, I 'ope we're all right now, SAM, I'm sure--these German jokers have chivied us about enough for one journey! (To CULCHARD.) Not in your way, this 'at-box, Sir? Don't give yer much space in these foreign trains. (They settle down and the train starts.) Pretty bit o' country along 'ere!--puts me in mind o' the best part o' Box 'Ill--and I can't say more for it than that!

Second T.T. (a little man with a sandy fringe and boiled-looking eyes). What I notice about the country abroad is they don't seem to 'ave no landmarks.

First T.T. (with a dash of friendly contempt). What d'yer mean--no landmarks--_signposts_?

Second T.T. (with dignity). I mean to say, they don't 'ave nothing to indicate which is JACK's property, and which is JOE's.

First T.T. Go on--they've as much as what we 'ave.

Second T.T. 'Ave they? We 'ave fences and 'edges. I don't see none 'ere. P'raps you'll point me out one?

First T.T. There's precious few 'edges or fences in the Isle o' Thanet, as you'd know if you've ever been to Margit.

Second T.T. (loftily). I'm not talkin' about Margit now. I'm talkin' of 'ere, and I'll trouble you to show me a landmark.

First T.T. Depend on it they've their own ways of knowing which is 'oo's.

Second T.T. That's not what I'm sayin'. I'm sayin' there ain't nothing to indicate it. [_They argue the point at length._]

Podb. (to CULCHARD). Then you really aren't cut up--about Miss T. you know?

Culch. (with the reserve of a man who only wants to be pressed). There is no reason that I am aware of, why I should be--but (lowering his voice) don't you think we had better wait till we are alone to discuss that subject?

Podb. Oh, all right. I'm not partic--at least. Well, I'm glad you aren't, you know, that's all.

[_He becomes silent again--but his face brightens visibly._

First T.T. (to Second Do.). See that field there? That's tobacco, that is.

Second T.T. What they make their penny smokes of. (The train enters a station.) What funny engines they do 'ave 'ere! I expect the guard'll be wanting to see our billyetts again next. It's as bad as it used to be with the passports. I've 'eard--mind yer, I don't know 'ow much likeli'ood there is in the assertion--that they're going to bring 'em in again. Most intricate they were about them. (To CULCHARD.) Why, if you'll believe me, a friend o' mine as 'ad one--well, they got 'is description down to a ioter! He'd a cast in 'is eye,--they put it down, and a pimple you'd 'ardly notice--but down that went!

First T.T. It's no use 'aving such things if they don't do it thoroughly.

Second T.T. (irrelevantly). I wish I 'adn't 'ad that glass o' peach wine where we changed last. (A Guard appears at the window, and makes some guttural comments on the couple's tickets.) Wechseln? Why, that means wash, don't it? I'm as clean as him, anyway. "Anshteigen,"--ah, I ought to know what that means by this time! SAM, my boy, we're bundled out again. I told yer 'ow it would be!

[_They tumble out, and the carriage is presently filled by an assortment of Germans, including a lively and sociable little Cripple with a new drinking-mug which he has just had filled with lager, and a Lady with pale hair and sentimental blue eyes._

Podb. We can talk all right now, eh? They won't understand. Look here, old fellow, I don't mind owning I'm rather down in the mouth about--you know what. I shouldn't care so much if there was any chance of our coming across them again.

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